Threats Are Redundant.

Redundancy Threatens.

Spot The Deliberate Mistake?

So some geezer, in his precious little laundered skull cap, walks unaided off a private jet, is picked up by a guarded limo and 'issues' a statement to 'the press'.

And the industrial application of analytic intelligence which should be the mainstream media, fails to see the irony in the fact that this uninjured person is claiming two things; firstly, that the CIA tortured him(lack of injury - what, did they call his favourite aunty a bitch?) and secondly, that the Security Service 'knew' about it.

What an absolutely embarrassing pile of bullshit; if he was tortured, why was he uninjured, well fed and walking and talking under his own power? It's not exactly the bloody Gestapo is it? Fucking joker.
And now he's trying to run his guilt-trip onto MI5 in order to disarm Britain's primary defence against actual terrorist murderers.
Let's see. We're all supposed to be stirred into guilty outrage by his crocodile whining, and dismantle our defences on his perceived definition of a legality to which he is alien in any case.
Get stuffed mate.

Ever Get The Feeling?

It has been said in so many ways by so many people. Listen to some of the songs of the Stranglers, or Elvis Costello for example.
But do you ever get the feeling that the bastards are looking at you?

I had a jewish girlfriend; some random guy at work starts talking in obscene detail about jewish girls, it never happened before or since.
I wrote a warning letter to a girl called 'Kate' (the rape-militia has itchy fingers, all the way from New York down to Africa - Rolling Stones ), and the following week one morning driving down a deserted street, a car cut me up, with a bumper-sticker saying 'Kate came first'.
This month a French girl was nice to me, and in the pub we moved onto half an hour later with the group, I hear a group of blokes start telling insulting jokes about the French.
Now some of it could be bad luck; some of it could be coincidence. But not all of it.

That's not possible. You see, I am a dangerous man. I once challenged orthodoxy with my fists, and orthodox thuggery is useful to those who really control modern British society, the society of Atlas Shrugged or the wood-tossing creeps of Rostand's Paris.
Here they do whatever it takes to keep us under control, usually not much, as to them there is the matter of their humanitarian illusions.
But they are ever present, and will keep on working just as long as it takes to reduce us to compliant little slugs; slugs ruled by slags, with smiles bared at us only to emphasise their withdrawal should we fail to be good little boys.
Their stormtroopers are recruited and trained young. They are more than criminal.
They are the rulers of exception.

British Fair Play.

When an Englishman sees somebody happy, when an Englishman sees me, when an Englishman of any nationality sees Howard Roark in an unguarded moment; he sees something which offends his sense of 'fairness'.
This fairness came to me while watching a sports channel advert; the soccer player had scored, and was gazing about filled with joy, looking for the stamp of public approval on his feeling - having kicked a leather skin into a rope net.

Anyway, the English see this as a valid and approvable joy that they can 'award' by leaving it in peace, as long as the person concerned doesn't get above themselves.
But when they see me, they see someone who feels that way naturally at all times, apparently having done nothing special to 'deserve' it.

These creeps really do think that they are the arbiters of 'unearned' joy(there is no such thing) and so try to destroy it by any means, up to and including attempted murder.
They just know that they have a feeling, that they can't stand me being happy and that it must end.
Thus the coughing and sneezing, the little old men in their twenties, and the boys of seventy.
They hate. They hate and that is all. They try not to realise that they hate joy, and are therefore devoted to death.

And this dressed as a brand of 'fairness', to protect their feeble pretence at 'goodness', stinking evil practised as a virtue.

Things in General

This is a mobile blog from in front of the telly, watching the Simpsons. Good episode, Bart in Moe's bar, they're all about to make fun of Burns. Drunks enjoying the discomfort of the ex-owner of the Nuclear plant.
Some of the old episodes are the best.
'Ooooh, the Germans!'
'Stop it Mister Burns....stop it....'

What Were They Thinking?

Copenhagen. What were they thinking? What are they thinking?
Never mind the creatures in the streets - uniform rebels conforming to the tyranny of loose-woven woolen hats, dreadlocks and nose piercings.

No. I mean the creatures inhabiting the conference halls. The so-called politicians.

I think I understand them.
You see, I grew up in the late sixties and seventies, so I remember how it was. These were the glory days, the days when politicians were permitted the illusion that they mattered, when the deluded media greedily sucked up every drop of spume-covered rubbish that these deficients uttered.
When Maggie came along in 1979, they didn't suspect. They thought she was promising a new flavour of the same game, and they rode the delusion to it's end, blaming her for the wake up call that left them naked and empty in front of a laughing populace.

Ever since, they have been resentful of us and longing for the previous golden age of crises, an age when the media game of communicating communiques from the terror groups elected to misrepresent us was the only game allowed, and they and their clients could live safe off the land with the fantasy of self-importance.
They longed to bring this all back.

And now they have. In Obama they have somebody who doesn't realise yet the game he is playing, somebody who is making it to the world stage with every fake fanfare that can be mustered, in the firm belief that he will deliver that harmonious tyranny which will trumpet the end of history and the beginning of a new brass age, where the little crooks can exploit their games to the bitter end and we can all go to hell.

But we are the truth.
And the truth is the first casualty of war, especially a war against humanity.

What Will The Neighbours Think?

By which I mean our interplanetary neighbours.
They will visit Earth in 50 years and find nothing but ruins. There will be no corpses. Nearly all the people will have marched dutifully to the extermination camps to "save the planet".

There won't be many people left; a few cave dwellers perhaps, more likely no people at all.
What will the visitors conclude?
They will examine the ruins and find that the world of Humans was destroyed by a fraud; it will be destroyed by the mixture of trust and lies, the poison that allows and ultimately creates all holocausts.
They will look at the mid twentieth century and see the monomental effort of moral expression that stopped the Nazis; the dogged determination that saw to it that the Soviet Union also collapsed, and they will conclude that the real perpetrators of these monstrosities were merely toying with the humans.
The humans failed to identify them and their evil accurately enough or often enough, and like the infinitely patient game-players they undoubtedly were, they just swallowed every truth, took every setback in their stride and put an arm around humanity's shoulder and led the dazed, tiring population from one illusion to the next, pausing to reveal themselves and their evil hatred only when some human of stature resisted too well.

At this stage, they could be seen. But the watchdogs of humanity were too incompetent to bark. Like dogs miaowing, they merely snorted and went back to somnolent staring, allowing the evildoers to manage yet another fait accomplit.
And around 2020, when it was found that there were just too many people, found by 'science', the absurdity of scientific socialism was suddenly standing before humanity, saliva dripping from its jaws, in a ruder health than it had ever been.

But this time no moral effort; the children had been destroyed in advance and made to believe that the lies were true, or that they were lies that couldn't be stopped.
Not all of us died voluntarily.
That's why there will be plenty of ruins.

The age of humanity is over.
Welcome to the new Hell.

Private What Now?

The 'Private Sector' is a piece of bullshit phraseology used everywhere a mainstream pundit dribbles over a keyboard or microphone.

There is NO 'private sector'.
There is the economy(the private sector), and there is the rest, the parasites, the people who live without living.

Any other sector exists by robbery of the 'private sector', which is the entire real economy.
Nothing else produces anything.

Star Wars 3

Star Wars the Return of The Jedi; had me weeping today. It's been a while, and seeing it again brought back all the hope and romance of the eighties.
This film series was the root of the cause that brought down communism, and less than ten years later, the scenes of jubilation were repeated for real everywhere except alien China. Truly there is nothing even remotely human about mainland China.

However, the version on TV tonight was 'revised'. A small change; David Prowse was removed from the final scene and replaced with the kid from the prequels.

Any airbrushing of history for any reason in a film of this sort is blasphemous, sacriledgious gerry-mandering.

I hope they are ashamed of themselves. If they aren't, then they are well on the way to the Dark Side.

Isn't Technology BRILLIANT!

This post comes to you courtesy of a brilliant device called a netbook.

Mine is an HP 2133 mini-note, which has been superceded by the 2140.
This means I bought a new Mini-note (RRP £360 ) for just £153 + £5 postage on e-bay. Hurry up while stocks last. They are a thing of beauty, and come complete with Gb Ethernet connection, camera, speakers, Wi-Fi and Bluetooth.

DO replace the SuSE Linux (poor) o/s with Ubuntu 9.10. It is free. All you need to do is boot from a flash drive with the 9.10 ISO file on, then let the installer do it's thing.

The hard drive is 120GB, so I have already loaded my entire music collection onto it and I'm listening as I type - 140 miles from my home network.

And this is the really crazy thing - I can see the screen better than I can my desktop, and that means no glasses needed. I can read it better than I can my phone even.

The Good Old Days.

The Bigger They Come....

There was a time when it was stated that the bigger the lie, the better its chances of succeeding. The lie was so big that it beggared belief that anybody could be deliberately trying to deceive on such a large scale.
The technique that liars used in the early part of the twentieth century was to tap into popular delusions and so exploit the things that people wanted to believe, especially about themselves.

Thus, any crank who could lay claim to salving the consciences of a large number of people was able to reach a threshold of popularity that would bring him to the attention of those people that still made up what is commonly known as 'society'; furthermore, such people would view the emergence of these characters with awe, coming as they did from nothing on a wave of popular sentiment that all were being told was 'historical' and therefore in keeping with the times and progress.

Thus, Hitler and Mussolini came to power by degree, until that power was absolute.

Then the lies were repeated for an international audience, the better to lull it into acquiescence and leave the way clear for the weirder indulgences these creatures had in mind.

And, as it happened, despite all the social engineering and moulding that had been going on, there were just enough people of age, such as Winston, who were just good enough at communicating with the citizenry of drones that had been created since the turn of the century, but still had cultural residual intelligence enough to see some truths (when pointed out), so that the monsters were stopped.

Just.

The cultural peversion and communistic demoralisation continued, however, and society is now comprised of mean, vicious little apparachniks who willl fight to the deaths of their last useful idiots to preserve their Cotswold cottages and comfy retirement plans.

The rest of us can go to hell, and indeed anything they can do to send us there quicker is a welcome obsession for the creatures of rule, needing distraction from realisation as they do;
but now, they are dealing with a populace, the bovine stupidity of which is almost embarrassing and certainly endearing to them.

So do lies need to be big?
Not anymore.
Today, any lie is credible the moment it is uttered.
If a refutation is immediate, the lie will be repeated later on, or obliquely, in order to make it stick.
The lies are then left in the open.
Nobody much will question them, because today's people need to be told what to think. In the world of propaganda the populace has long lost any ability to work things out. They just see or hear some rubbish on the television or radio, and that is what they believe.

The lies won't be challenged. The novelty is when a truth is uttered by way of variety; this causes no more perturbation than the lies, and may even be a truth that people happen to believe.

And the masters wonder at the disillusion and lack of debate, complain about 'apathy' and go on trying to be the voice in the ear-trumpet of a population educated to senility from the age of five.

Band Aids.

Socialism has missed the point entirely.
What socialists have tried to do is create a political, legislated structure which forces certain rationed outcomes for people feckless or unlucky enough to need them.

In replacing personal motivation and responsibility with a state steamroller, they have stopped the normal decision-making processes of persuasion and argument and led to instant rejection of any situation in which genuine assistance may be needed.

This was deliberate.
The cry of the Labour socialists in the 60s and 70s was "rights not charity".
This is of course absurd, as the right to a physical product can only be achieved by production; if you don't produce, then such a right has to be granted by a producer (in which case it is only a priviledge) or inflicted on the producer by violence (socialism).

But this is not the point that they have missed. This point is that people will go on being stupid, ignorant, malicious fools and treading the best among us into the mud, so long as they are left alone to do so. And socialism has been very careful not to interfere with that.

If socialism wanted to help humanity, then it would have used the massive publishing and communications empires that it can marshall as a way of pushing the truths that would leave the molluscs no stone to hide under.
If socialists want to help, they should be attacking the evil which banishes the producers to the margins of society, and totally buries them when the fat bastards of the status quo think they have enough physical stuff and food to be getting on with.

It's an interesting fact, that in North America, you still see many jolly fat people, while here, they are mostly ugly also, defiantly so, with poor clothing sense and styles of their own which seem calculated to emphasise their lack of personality; they are like the methane-producing drones that socialists would have us believe cows are.

To liberate life and legalise freedom should be the only possible course open to any 'progressive'. But they aren't socialists. They aren't progressives.

They think that they are democratic.

Which all means?

A Gangrene And Pleasant Land.

Harry Hill.

Harry Hill is a funny guy on British Saturday evening TV.
But his lampooning of the current Ghandi documentary was a bit steep. The original regular reporter in the clip described the ornate Ghandi memorial at the man's birthplace as 'overblown'. What rubbish.
He founded the biggest democracy in the world.
And there were just two words carved under his portrait: TRUTH and NON-VIOLENCE.
Pretty damned impressive I'd call it.

The Opener

Arthur Straw strolled quietly down the pedestrian street. He was not exactly tall, not exactly broad, but there was about him the air of potential violence, a frame that moved fluidly and not in any way identifiable with any of the usual traits.
In fact it was this that led to trouble – as it always did – whether or not Arthur gave a damn. Which he usually didn’t.
His face was violent only in its calmness, and his eyes roved sardonically from incident to incident with barely a flicker of interest.
He had a scar above his left eye, a small scar that told little of the fury that had caused it.
As he walked down the street, he saw the local neighbourhood kids standing outside one of the doors.
He liked them. They’d asked him his name and made friends with him. On the way back from the Chinese take-away the other night they’d showered him with their water pistol while screeching with delight. He smiled at the memory, a gentle, true smile.
There was an adult with them.
The adult saw, and hated, and coughed.
“Ey up, mate. Corrupting your kids are you?”
No reply. Just a dirty stare.
“You’re not a nonce or something are you?” Arthur grinned after he made this remark. The other guy was bigger than him. The other guy left the kids alone and stood up straight.
“Cos I like these kids, and I’d hate to see anything happen to them.”
Arthur’s voice had hardened. It sounded flat and deadly.
“Fuck off mate. I’m their uncle.”
“Lucky for you.”
Arthur glowered as he strolled past. The other man stood straight and shrank at the same time. ‘Not in front of the kids’, thought Arthur.

Why Can't We All Just Get Along?

Why Can't We All Just Get Along?

Ever get the feeling something is going on? I go to the Chinese takeaway; I walk past, take a look up a sidestreet, then come back and go in. I order, sit down with a newspaper.
Sure enough, there's one of those young bastards who have been very much in evidence.

I haven't seen this particular one, but the blond, spiky hair and the look of aggrieved pomposity is tell-tale. maybe a coincidence, but this little slag is waiting across the street with a can of coca cola trying to look casual.
I can smell these creeps, and tonight the stink is strong.

I tell you, one of these days I might just tackle one and see how it goes. This has been happening for a year now, first they see me, then suddenly they are 'living' in the flat downstairs, and now they are curious about where I go.
They are just kids, but they are going to be bloody injured kids if they don't go away.

Anyway, I kept an eye out on the way home, and I wasn't followed. But then they know where I go don't they.
There are three possibilities:
1) I'm mistaken.
2) They are local punks trying to be 'big men'.
3) Somebody is sponsoring this low level harrassment because of my views.